Referentes conceptuales

Archetypes play a significant role in my analysis because they represent what I consider the result of unchecked cultural iterations. Specifically, the long-standing white patriarchal societal order created public images of Black women that misrepresent our femininity and limit our social mobility. Trudier Harris describes the complexity of Black women’s identities:

Called Matriarch, Emasculator and Hot Momma. Sometimes Sister, Pretty Baby, Auntie, Mammy and Girl. Called Unwed Mother, Welfare Recipient and Inner City Consumer. The Black American Woman has had to admit that while nobody knew the troubles she saw, everybody, his brother and his dog, felt qualified to explain her, even to herself” (4).

As implied through the monikers listed above, Black women not only function in complex roles but also society asks them to exist in those roles without little concern for how they feel about them. These labels fuel historical perceptions of Black women footed in the idea that we are incompetent about womanhood and ill-equipped to function effectively as wives and mothers. Moreover, Black women are consistently placed in comparative binaries with white women and other women of color. Goldman and Waymer discuss beauty standards among African American women in reality television through a comparative lens, stating that though definitions of beauty vary based on culture, “beauty standards for Black people (as well as other groups) are often based on Eurocentric ideals” (29). Eurocentric beauty standards include straight, blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, slender physiques, and small facial features (e.g. noses and lips). The binary, though it offers a space for characteristics and features that do not align with leading beauty

images, places all opposing iterations of beauty in a recessive position because it does not value the “other.” Additionally, this process promotes division and hierarchy because the binary categories rely on difference to enforce their meaning. Hill Collins identifies the problematic nature of this structure by linking human difference to objectification:

One part is not simply different from its counterpart; it is inherently opposed to its ‘other.’ Whites and Black…are fundamentally different entities related only through their definition as opposites… [and objectification] is central to this process of oppositional difference [because in] binary thinking, one element is objectified as Other and is viewed as an object to be manipulated and controlled. (70)

At one point in history, many considered any image of Black women in television, literature, or film a response to the need for diversity in these mediums, regardless of what the image said about Black women. However, once society at large came to know Black women through the repeated images of mammies, jezebels, and other negative stereotypes, the dominant sector began using these representations to dictate how Black women fit into the cultural fabric.

Though the images originally outlined by Hill Collins provide much room for analysis, I focus on the mammy and her evolution. The mammy figure emerges as a result of post-slavery efforts to perpetuate Black female oppression on behalf of white hegemonic objectives. She contradicts antebellum womanhood—epitomized by “the cult of true womanhood’s” four distinct requirements: piety, purity, domesticity, and submissiveness—but she coexists within society because of her “faithful, obedient domestic [service]” (72). Asexual and unattractive, mammies devote their lives to maintaining order within white households under the direction of their mistresses. This role becomes imperative to power structures, because “[e]mploying Black

women in mammified occupations supports the racial superiority of White employers… [and encourages] middle-class White women…to identify more closely with the racial and class privilege afforded their fathers, husbands, and sons” (73). The mammy is also juxtaposed against white women, which reinforces white superiority and strengthens the role of “Other” within this binary. It ultimately perpetuates the oppressive nature of binaries. But, the structure can unravel.

The Atlanta housewives, by no means, work as domestic servants to white families, which positions them outside this model, but their employment by a predominantly white executive board at Bravo/NBCUniversal Cable Entertainment (with women comprising over sixty percent of its membership) complicates this conclusion (“Executive Bios”). The two separate elements of the genre, “documentary” and “soap opera,” not only disrupt perceptions of reality, but they also represent performance. Rather than representing a stable reality, the

docusoap should be considered a genre that simply mimics what mainstream society considers real because it includes intentionally fictional elements. When the docusoap converges with the mammy archetype, it places the characters in a liminal space that combines the housewife and the mammy into one model. This alternative characterization exemplifies an effort to resist societal regulations of class by providing a new archetype and rejecting the social hierarchical structure. Combining this perspective with RHOA’s popularity helps illuminate the importance of this representation because it validates the women’s identities and provides them cultural

intelligibility. Although the housewives are technically outside society’s expectations in this newfound identity, they remain relevant and their identities are universally recognized.

Goldman and Waymer complicate the mammy figure through her relationship to the “Black Lady.” They contend that the Black Lady represents ambitious, professional women who still remain loyal to white people and who use aggression to gain economic success. Also, “she is

no longer asexual, like the original Mammy, but she still is presented as using her sexuality appropriately” (31). Many of the housewives possess these characteristics, but Leakes gives the best example of this model. During the Season 1 reunion special, Cohen asks Leakes about her growing popularity among viewers. After he tells her that CNN news anchor and host Anderson Cooper commented on how much he loves her, Leakes states that she is not surprised that people love her and that she loves him and his work (“Reunion Special” 3:23). Her assertion implies that she values the opinion of a highly-successful, internationally recognized news anchor, and she connects herself to him by reciprocating the love Cooper extended to her. Leakes combines aggression and sexuality in Season 2 by organizing an alter ego photoshoot. She decides to portray a housewife and a stripper to address rumors that she once danced to support herself and first son. As director of the shoot, Leakes takes the spotlight. The photoshoot and surrounding drama stretches across three episodes, with Leakes’ sass growing in each. Castmate Kandi Burress comments on how Leakes “was really bossy at the beginning of the shoot” (“My Ego” 13:24). However, the tactic pays off. The first two episodes of this series, episodes five and six, brought in 2.5 and 3.1 million viewers, respectively. Though still problematic, Leakes’

representation of this model shows how she subverts a negative portrayal, makes it popular, and reaps the economic benefits that result. And most importantly, Leakes’ bossy attitude and atypical sexuality within this model exemplify the manner in which alternative depictions of Black women provide agency for us within mainstream society. Though members of the Black community may critique her behavior as a misrepresentation of true Black womanhood, people from other ethnic backgrounds, who make up thirty-five percent of the show’s viewers, watch RHOA, thus validating this performance and suggesting an appeal of Black Lady stereotype among non-Black viewers (“For Us By Us?” np).

If the mammy represents a “good mother” in mainstream society, her successor, the “matriarch,” embodies characteristics that make her undesirable by and unrecognized within both mainstream and Black culture. Daniel Patrick Moynihan presents the Black Matriarch during the 1960s as an example of “the bad mother” who “failed to fulfill [her] traditional womanly duties at home” (30). At the expense of patriarchy, these women typically adorn the “head of

household” moniker and carry familial responsibilities alone. Because they support single-parent homes, they also bear the household’s financial responsibility. In connection with Moynihan’s suggestion, Hill Collins asserts that Black Matriarchs also are usually “overly aggressive, unfeminine women” who “allegedly [emasculate] their lovers and husbands” (75). The Black Matriarch creates a complicated dynamic for the RHOA housewives, as none of the Atlanta housewives neatly represent this archetype. From Season 1, Hartwell and Snow’s husbands provide their incomes from employment with the NFL and NBA, respectively, but each wife work. The former operates a non-profit organization, and the latter—in partnership with her husband—sells high-dollar real estate to Atlanta’s elite. In later seasons, Hartwell pursues entrepreneurial endeavors in jewelry-making and fashion design. Leakes’ employment is most ambiguous during Season 1, but she typifies some behaviors described by Hill Collins, insomuch as her demeanor is often “overly aggressive” and appears to emasculate her husband (75).

During her Season 1 introduction, Leakes and her husband attend multiple events, but she takes the spotlight: Mr. Leakes is always pictured behind her, with his head down, or waiting to engage others upon his wife’s approval. However, Mr. Leakes’ work as a real estate agent provides the major financial support for the Leakes’ household during the early seasons of the show. Once NeNe Leakes appears on The Celebrity Apprentice (2008-2015), her income dramatically increases, and her current net worth equals twelve million dollars (“NeNe Leakes

Net Worth” np). Leakes’ appearance on NBC’s show also correlates to a boost in RHOA

viewers. Leakes appeared on The Celebrity Apprentice toward the end of RHOA Season 4. After finishing that season with an average 2.9 million viewers, Season 5 opened with 3.2 million viewers and averaged 3.1 million viewers over twenty-three episodes. Leakes’ position makes a strong case for further investigation into the housewives’ manipulation of their representation on the show.

Kim Zolciak and Shereé Whitfield, as the two unmarried housewives, fit this model most appropriately. Neither have men living in their homes, and each woman is responsible for all household upkeep and the care of their children.18 Whitfield and Zolciak, however, both depend on financial assistance from men. Zolciak’s not-quite-divorced anonymous boyfriend finances her life, and Whitfield’s ex-NFL and (at the time) soon-to-be ex-husband provides economic security for her and their children. Zolciak talks about plans to start an upscale line of women’s wigs, and Whitfield drains thousands of dollars trying to launch She by Shereé. The interplay between the characteristics of housewife and matriarch presents these two women as culturally viable iterations of high-class status. They resist society’s attempt to place them in a category by blending elements from each archetype. However, Kim Zolciak inhabits a complicated position on the show as the only white RHOA housewife. She is the exception to the rules, and my discussion will later address her positionality on the show and in society.

During Season 1, Whitfield admits that she hopes to gain some seven figures in financial support from her spouse. Though technically she represents a Black matriarch, she can also be seen as either a “Gold Digger” or a “Baby Mama.” Goldman and Waymer identify the Gold Digger as a woman who “enjoys engaging in promiscuous behavior to obtain financial security

and material gain,” and they define the Baby Mama as a woman who “becomes a mother as a result of her hypersexuality. [She is] unethical, as she often lies to the father of her

children…[and she] is usually a ‘young, single, poor, urban [female]” (33-34). These stereotypes alone present issues, as their definitions include subjective evaluations of a woman’s intentions. I understand that interpreting behaviors can help connect the motives behind an individual’s actions, but I stop short of suggesting that anyone can determine a woman’s reason for mothering children without confirmation from that woman. As pointed out by Berger and Luckmann, individuals’ realities are the combination of each person’s here and now in relation to the here and now of surrounding individuals. Therefore, based on an inability to decode Whitfield’s actions behind and rationale for having children with her ex-football player ex-husband, I will not consider her a Baby Mama or a Gold Digger. Moreover, she is not represented as young, poor, or urban on RHOA. However, the other factors disrupt this perspective. Shereé states during Season 1, Episode 1 that she “grew up middle-class, and now [she’s] upper-class,” and she has no plans of altering her lifestyle or her children’s lifestyle (“Welcome” 2:01). In a move that defies society’s definition of the Black Matriarch, Whitfield informs viewers that her intentions are motivated by the stability of her family and not a selfish, individualistic aim. This allows Whitfield the opportunity to redefine public perception of her and her castmates by providing an alternative to the status quo.